


Lean on Me

by electrostatics



Series: Reaching an Agreement [3]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Anxiety, Consensual, D/s, Depression, Domination/submission, M/M, Sex-related insecurity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-28
Updated: 2012-09-28
Packaged: 2017-11-15 04:58:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electrostatics/pseuds/electrostatics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Post-Kaijou v. Touou] Being with Ryouta has always been like this, teetering from one end of the spectrum to the other: teasing and pushing Ryouta to his best and comforting him, protecting him in his arms as though he were a small puppy. But in the end, Ryouta has always been Yukio's ace.</p><p>(Stand-alone from the other stories in the series.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lean on Me

**Author's Note:**

> **[Trauma Warnings: Consensual D/s relationship.]**
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> Thanks to [cureelliott](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cureelliott) for holding my hand throughout this story, as usual~
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> You don't have to read the other stories in this series. All you have to know is that Kise and Kasamatsu are in a consensual D/s relationship where Kise calls Kasamatsu "Captain."

Watching Ryouta struggle to stand up on the basketball court, Yukio feels his heart hammer against his ribcage, beating itself bruised trying to escape. He reaches out a hand to Ryouta and says, "Just hang in there for the line-up."

Ryouta's mouth twists downwards, his whole body shaking. "Senpai, I …" 

Yukio pulls him up, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. He reaches inside himself for something comforting, something to say, but he can't hear himself speak.

Instead, all he hears is, _I'm a bad captain. I'm a bad leader._

Ryouta squeezes Yukio's shoulder, tiny little sobs catching in his throat. 

Yukio wishes he could just press himself against Ryouta until there's nothing left to feel.

*

The metal lockers bounce back against Yukio's hands, sharp pain echoing through his whole arm and his whole body. His knees ache on the cold, stone floor, his lower legs going numb. 

His face feels wet, but he knows he can't let anyone see. Not even Ryouta, especially not Ryouta, who leans on him the most.

*

On the bus ride home, Yukio feels his phone vibrate. When he looks, it's a text from Ryouta, who is sitting in the seat in front of him.

 _Senpai, I'm sorry,_ the text says.

Ryouta hunches over his seat when he hears the sound of Yukio shutting his phone shut without replying.

*

Yukio drowns himself in practice, practice, practice. When he's not studying, he's playing basketball. He eats as much protein as possible, lifts weights, runs in the park--anything to get his mind off the Touou-Kaijou game.

Before the Interhigh, Yukio and Ryouta played a weekly game of one-on-one, followed by a small dinner. But Ryouta doesn't text him the Saturday after the game to ask him "Same place, same time?" so Yukio doesn't ask, either.

Yukio plays alone in the local park instead. He imagines going up against Ryouta, imagines yelling at him when he slaps the ball out of Yukio's hands, imagines Ryouta touching his back and kissing his ear while making a shot, imagines the sly grin Ryouta gives him when Yukio calls foul. 

'Sorry, senpai,' Ryouta says, 'I guess you'll have to teach me the rules again.'

Yukio shoots a three-pointer and watches the ball swish through the hoop. The ball bounces on the ground loudly several times, then decrescendos and rolls toward Yukio's feet.

Yukio can see Ryouta in his mind's eye, struggling to get up, slipping, the sweat dripping onto the floor, his forehead furrowed in frustration. He can see himself not being there to catch Ryouta when he falls, his whole body reacting instead to the bright, red score.

_98-110. Touou wins. Sorry, Yukio, but you lost again._

*

Ryouta is waiting for him after school has ended one day. "Yo," Yukio says, without waving.

"Senpai," Ryouta says, flashing Yukio an easy-going smile. 

Yukio doesn't say anything.

"I'll become stronger," Ryouta says. "So please ..." Ryouta stares at the ground and the eleven centimeter difference doesn't help Ryouta look taller or more intimidating. Instead, he looks like a big fool, hunched over next to the gate of a high school. "Captain, forgive me." 

It's that kind of 'Captain.' The kind of 'Captain' that Ryouta calls him when it's just the two of him, with Ryouta looking up at him from the floor, Yukio's image reflected in his eyes. 

Yukio hesitates too long, and Ryouta fills the silence with a short laugh, the sharp noise slicing through Yukio's chest like a well-sharpened blade.

"Well, it's all right," Ryouta says. "I'll work hard, so please don't kick me."

Yukio reaches out and grabs his wrist. "Don't be mistaken," he says, "I'm counting on you."

Ryouta pulls his wrist free. They both stand there, not looking at each other, not saying anything, until Ryouta makes a tiny noise in his throat. 

"Captain," Ryouta says. "Please don't give up on me." 

*

Even Moriyama notices something wrong while they're training with long-distance sprints. "Hey, Captain," he says, and Yukio tries not to flinch at the title, "you all right?"

"Hn. Five more laps," Yukio says. "Now!"

Moriyama doesn't inch. He's struggling to speak between breaths. "You and Kise aren't getting along."

"Ten laps!"

Moriyama sighs, but he runs off to his punishment, leaving Yukio alone to do his sprints.

Yukio glances over at Ryouta, who is practicing in the pool to reduce the strain on his kneecaps. Even injured, Ryouta is swimming laps back and forth almost as fast as the best swimmer on the Kaijou swim team. 

Yukio can see the strain of his back, the water splashing loudly around him, the gasping breaths Ryouta is taking after each stroke--Ryouta works too hard.

Yukio wants to get better. He wants to become stronger, too, and leave behind the person who knelt in the locker room, crying and pounding his fists against the doors as though the lockers would comfort him.

*

Yukio finds Ryouta sitting on the bench after practice, water dripping onto the floor everywhere. Ryouta's yellow towel hangs around his neck. He's resting his elbows on his knees, his hands laced together so tight his knuckles are white.

"Ryouta," Yukio says.

Ryouta looks over his shoulder. The rims of his eyes are red. "Senpai," he says.

Yukio sits down next to him, the water on the bench soaking the sides of his shorts. "Ryouta." He reaches out and touches his knee, squeezing it. Ryouta flinches and trembles. "Ryouta, let me--" _\--lean on you._

"Yes?" Ryouta looks at him, his big yellow eyes sparkling. "Yukio--"

"Never mind." Yukio reaches out, in a flash, grabbing Ryouta's head and pulling him into a noogie. "Don't overwork yourself." 

*

Yukio is walking home--alone, again--when he catches the familiar sight of blond hair in the park.

At first, he admires Ryouta for his tenacity to train even after hours, but then it hits him: Ryouta is running in the park. _Running._

Yukio drops his bag sprinting after Ryouta. He wishes he could be grateful that he can run nearly as fast as him at his injured pace, but all he feels is his heart beating rapidly in his chest, as though Yukio were the one being chased and not Ryouta.

"Ryouta!" Yukio shouts. "Ryouta, stop!"

Ryouta comes to a startled halt, looking over his shoulder, and Yukio crashes straight into him, knocking them both over onto the ground, Yukio's head resting uncomfortably on Ryouta's chest.

"Yu--Kasamatsu-senpai?!" Ryouta rubs the back of his head awkwardly, his face flushed from running.

Yukio manages to upright himself and grab the front of Ryouta's shirt, pulling their faces close. Yukio is torn between yelling at him and praising him, and while he knows he should be praising him, what comes out of his mouth is, "You idiot! You fucking idiot, Ryouta!" He shakes him, both hands fisted in Ryouta's shirt now. "What do you think you're doing, huh!? Practicing out here? Running?! Coach forbade you from running because of your knees! And look what you're doing! You're ruining yourself!"

Up close, Ryouta's laugh ghosts over Yukio's cheeks. "Don't worry, senpai, it's fine, my knees barely hurt! I'm getting stronger, so don't worry, when the Winter Cup comes--"

"I don't fucking care!" It's a lie, and they both know it, but Ryouta still stops talking, his eyes wide in a clueless stupor. "I ..." Yukio grits his teeth. "I don't care … about the Winter Cup … if you can't play in it! And you won't be able to if you keep doing this … You're … Kise Ryouta, you're …" 

Ryouta doesn't say anything.

"You're killing yourself, Ryouta," Yukio says, biting out each word. He lets go of Ryouta's shirt and stands up, kicking at the ground. 

"I don't want to rely on senpai anymore," Ryouta says. When he tries to stand, his knees wobble and he falls back. 

Yukio sighs and kneels next to Ryouta, pulling him up under his arm. "It's okay to rely on me," he says, staring forward. "I--want you to."

Ryouta lets out a deep, shuddering breath. "I don't want to hold you down."

"You aren't," Yukio says. He glances sideways at Ryouta, squeezing his waist, "Let's just go back to my place."

*

Yukio sits Ryouta down on the couch and runs a warm bath for him. 

"Ryouta," Yukio calls out into the living room. "The bath is ready."

When he doesn't reply or come running, Yukio stands and walks back into the living room.

Ryouta is sleeping on the couch, one arm hanging over the side. At his current size, Ryouta makes the couch look like it was made for someone three-quarters his size. 

Yukio sighs and squats down next to the couch. He scoops Ryouta into his arms and stands carefully, his arm muscles bulging to their max under Ryouta's weight. For a lithe model, Ryouta is still seventy-seven kilograms of hard muscle and strong bones.

Yukio walks slowly to the bathroom, Ryouta's head on his shoulder. For the short time they've known each other, Yukio is always amazed by the range of expressions Ryouta has--from the well-timed smile, to the self-frustration, to his open expression when they're together, and to this: Ryouta at his most vulnerable, when he is sleeping.

Yukio pushes open the bathroom door with his back and carefully sets Ryouta against the side of the bathtub. He undresses Ryouta, his shirt first, followed by his belt, his pants, and his boxers, which Yukio gets up to place outside next to the sink, along with his own clothes, which he quickly discards.

Yukio lifts Ryouta from the floor again, lowering him carefully into the bath, which is half-full with water. Ryouta fusses in his sleep, grunting and whimpering at the water, but he doesn't wake up. What a bother. 

"Hey," Yukio says, as he turns the water off. "How can you sleep at a time like this, Ryouta?"

Ryouta mumbles and tries to roll over in the bathtub. The water sloshes over the edges of the bathtub.

Yukio sighs fondly. Well, Ryouta has always been ridiculous. He sponges Ryouta down, wiping at his arms and his chest gently. The bubbles make it hard to see him, but Yukio can still feel his soft skin through the sponge. Ryouta has always taken care of his skin with a multitude of beauty products, making sure that his skin stays healthy and clear. Yukio has never quite understood it, but it makes Ryouta happy--and in moments like these, when Yukio is giving Ryouta a wet rubdown, even he can appreciate the smoothness of Ryouta's skin.

Yukio takes extra, special care on Ryouta's legs, feeling the baby smooth skin and smiling when he feels a patch of hair that Ryouta missed. 

Yukio is about to start soaping Ryouta's inner thighs when he glances up to see Ryouta looking at him with half-lidded eyes. "Captain," Ryouta says.

Oh.

It still hurts.

Yukio reaches one wet hand up and ruffles Ryouta's hair, looking down at the bathroom tile. "Ryouta," he says. "We have to … talk about that."

"About what?" 

"Don't play dumb," Yukio says. "We have to talk about this 'Captain' business." 

When he looks up at Ryouta, Ryouta's eyes are shining, and the water in the corner of his eyes doesn't just look like regular bath water. "Well, it's okay," Ryouta says, "if you don't want to play like that anymore, that's fine."

Yukio taps Ryouta's cheek with the flat side of his hand and smiles tightly. "Could you just listen and talk after I'm done, eh? Or do you wanna die?" He taps Ryouta's cheek again, harder this time. "Listen to your senpai, or we really won't play."

Ryouta pouts.

"Good boy," Yukio says. "I still want to do what we've been doing. But I don't want to be called 'Captain' anymore. Let's figure out something else, instead."

"Why?" Ryouta asks.

Yukio grabs Ryouta's ear and pulls Ryouta toward him. "Why do you ask so many questions, Ryouta?"

"I want to know," Ryouta says, turning away, his voice cracking. "And you've been avoiding me all this time. I had to practice harder so you would notice me, senpai! But you just kept putting on that fake smile and touching my head, but you would never kiss me, or ask me to come over, and, and, and--" The tears start pouring down Ryouta's cheeks, a sad wail coming out of his throat. "I thought you didn't like me anymore!" 

Yukio grips the side of the bathtub. "I'm sorry," he says, and carries Ryouta to his bedroom.

*

Ryouta is still crying as he dries himself and his hair, and he's still crying while he puts on the spare clothes he keeps at Yukio's place. And when he's sitting on Yukio's bed, he's still crying, wiping his fat tears away from his face with the sleeves of his sweater. 

Yukio sits next to him and rubs his back. "I'm sorry," he says again. "I didn't mean to make you feel bad." He kisses Ryouta's damp hair, and then his forehead, and then lifts Ryouta's crying face to kiss his lips. "I like you."

Ryouta tastes like salty tears and saliva and sweat, but Yukio doesn't mind. The way Ryouta clings to him, clutching his shirt, sniffling and whimpering pathetically into his mouth--Yukio can't bring himself to say, 'Pull yourself together,' or, 'It's not over.'

Being with Ryouta has always been like this, teetering from one end of the spectrum to the other: teasing and pushing Ryouta to his best and comforting him, protecting him in his arms as though he were a small puppy. But in the end, Ryouta has always been Yukio's ace.

"I like you," Yukio says again, into his temple. "You're a good boy. You did well."

Ryouta starts bawling into Yukio's shirt, his body shaking in Yukio's arms. "I'm sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry--"

"It's okay." Yukio leans back onto the bed and strokes Ryouta's back. "It's not that I don't want to keep 'playing.' It's just that … right now, I don't think I can handle being called 'Captain.'"

"But you are," Ryouta hiccups. "You're my Captain."

"I know." Yukio feels the pressure building in his throat. "I still am. But …" He places one hand over his eyes. "Ryouta, right now, do this for me."

"Yukio …?"

Yukio speaks slowly, one word at a time, not because he thinks Ryouta won't understand, but because he feels as though he's punched himself in the gut. "Please. Let me rely on you a little, too."

Ryouta sniffles and crawls up Yukio's chest, nearly elbowing him in the stomach along the way. He kisses the hand covering Yukio's eyes, and then carefully lifts it. "It's okay. You can cry too, senpai." As Ryouta kisses the corner of his eyes, getting Ryouta's tears and snot all over his face, Yukio realizes that he's crying, too, the tears slipping out of the corner of his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Ryouta says. "I don't want to be selfish. I want to take care of you."

Yukio swallows and blinks rapidly. Ryouta is hovering above him, smiling weakly, the water still dripping from his eyes onto Yukio's face. "Thank you," Yukio says, rubbing at his eyes.

"I won't call you Captain anymore," Ryouta says. "Maybe senpai?"

Yukio rolls his eyes despite himself. "You're not my only kouhai."

"Oh." Ryouta sits back on his heels. He looks so ridiculous, an overgrown baby in a knit sweater with snot all over his face. But Yukio merely admires him and wonders how such an annoying boy could eclipse all else in Yukio's life. "Master?"

"No. We talked about that one. I don't like it." The word 'master' makes Yukio think of old, stuffy European men in mansions with their butlers. Yukio is not a European and he definitely does not own a mansion.

Ryouta pouts. "Okay, then not that." He stare at the wall. "Maybe … 'Sir'?" 

Yukio bounces the name around in his head. Sir. Well, it's not bad. It's simple, respectful. "Call for me, Ryouta," he says, staring straight at him.

Ryouta's eyes widen, and then he licks his lips. "Yes, Sir?"

"It's nice," Yukio says. He reaches up and strokes Ryouta's face. "It shows the respect a little kouhai should have for his senpai." He scratches Ryouta's chin, just the way Ryouta has always liked it, and Ryouta moans deep in his throat. "Good boy."

Ryouta kisses Yukio's neck and shoulders. "Sir," he says. "Sir. Can I... take care of you?"

"Yes." Yukio relaxes back into the bed, feeling the exhaustion seep into his bones despite himself. He feels wrung out like a dish towel left to dry. "Why don't you ride me?"

"Okay." Ryouta licks his lips and reaches into the drawer next to Yukio's bed, removing the tube of lube. "It's almost empty, Sir."

Yukio closes his eyes. "I'll buy more later," he says. "Use the rest on yourself."

Yukio keeps his eyes closed, listening to Ryouta slick himself up, making cute little noises. When Ryouta moans, Yukio can't help but open his eyes to watch Ryouta scissor his fingers inside himself. "You look good," Yukio says. "What a cute kouhai."

Ryouta blushes, smiling shyly, and then he wraps his hand around Yukio's cock. "Is it good, Sir?"

"Yeah," Yukio says, the heat spreading from his stomach to his whole body. "Good boy."

Ryouta lowers himself onto Yukio's cock, wincing a little. In his lust-induced haze, Yukio finds the strength to scold him. "Don't rush yourself." 

"Yes, Sir," Ryouta says, but he doesn't sound very convincing. Yukio reaches out and grabs his hips, holding him still. Ryouta is a tight, wet heat around him; Yukio wants nothing more than to fuck him until Ryouta only knows the word Sir. But this is Yukio's role: he has to take care of Ryouta, he has to teach him.

"Look at me," Yukio says thickly, and Ryouta does, breathing hard, wiggling his hips and squeezing around Yukio's cock. What a tease. "Stop. Now, Ryouta."

Ryouta freezes.

"Good. Move down. Slowly." When Ryouta tries to slam himself onto Yukio, Yukio squeezes his hips and holds him up. _"Slowly."_

Ryouta braces himself on the headboard, lowering his hips down onto Yukio's cock, torturingly slow. Yukio stares up at him, watching his face--still covered in snot and tears. "You look ridiculous," Yukio says, grinning. "Is this supposed to be erotic?"

"What a mean Sir," Ryouta gasps, the back of his thighs touching Yukio's hips.

Yukio grunts a little and thrusts his hips up. "You're swallowing me up, you know. Don't be greedy."

"I like you, Sir," Ryouta says. He leans down and kisses Yukio's lips. "That's why I want to have all of you inside of me."

Yukio chuckles against Ryouta's lips. "Show me how much you like me."

Ryouta grins and is somehow endearing despite how red his face is. "I," he says, punctuating each word by rolling his hips, "-- _like_ \--you-- _very_ \--much--Sir."

"Ryouta," Yukio groans. "Yes, good boy... Harder, Ryouta..."

Yukio stares up at Ryouta as Ryouta fucks himself, moaning and whimpering, the sweat dripping down his neck onto Yukio's skin. He tries not to think about how tight Ryouta is, how he has a vice grip on Yukio, how he's eating Yukio up like he can never get enough, how he's whimpering and shuddering, his hands clutching the headboard tightly. 

But most of all, Yukio is trying not to look too hard at Ryouta's face, his wet, parted lips--his glossy eyes and how he's whispering, "Sir, Sir, it's so good, fuck me, more," how he's practically trying to get more and more and more of Yukio inside of him--Yukio wants this to last, he wants to hold this moment with him forever: to burn the image of Ryouta needing him so completely, every nerve attuned to Yukio's body. It's so hot, Yukio feels his temperature spike, his stomach tightening.

"Sir, Sir, I'm so close," Ryouta says. "Please, please, let me come, please--!" 

"You wouldn't come without my permission, would you?" Yukio squeezes Ryouta's hips and halts his thrusts, leaving Ryouta hanging limply atop Yukio's body.

"Noooo," Ryouta cries. "Don't …. Don't... I want to come." 

"Why don't you just come then?" Yukio asks.

"Because--!" Ryouta's voice breaks and small tears run down the side of his face. "You have to let me! Because--because you're my Cap--my, my... My Sir!" 

The slip doesn't hurt as much as Yukio expected it would. He smiles and strokes Ryouta's hipbone. "What an obedient boy," Yukio says. "Maybe you're learning to respect your senpai."

"Please," Ryouta gasps. "Sir, please, please, it hurts … I want to come …"

"Make me come first," Yukio says. "Then, you can come too."

It doesn't take long. Yukio was close already. But seeing Ryouta try so hard--seeing Ryouta be so eager to please _him,_ to be _his--_

Yukio clutches one of Ryouta's arms, squeezing it, his breath quickening, every muscle in his body taut with expectation. "I'm gonna come, Ryouta," he says, "I'm close, I'm really close, make me come, be a good boy, make me come--"

Ryouta slams his whole body down onto Yukio, moaning brokenly, and Yukio nearly screams when he comes, his fingers digging into Ryouta's flesh. 

"I wanna come, Sir," Ryouta begs. "Please, please, please--!"

"Come for me!" Yukio orders, and Ryouta muffles Yukio's name into the crook of his neck. 

Ryouta's come splatters all over their chests in thick wet lines, but before Yukio can yell at him, Ryouta starts crying again.

Yukio rolls Ryouta onto his side and tries to look at his face, but Ryouta covers himself with his arms. 

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Ryouta says.

"Ryouta," Yukio says.

"I just like you," Ryouta mumbles. "And … I feel like … even though we talked about things, that you're the one that I'm always relying on. And that I can't help you... feel like you're a better captain."

Yukio strokes his hair. "You're a good player," he says. "And you're a very good boy." He kisses Ryouta's hands. "You do make me feel better. When it's just us, and you look at me. I need that. I need you."

Ryouta peeks out from under his hands. "Really?"

"Yes." Yukio kisses his wet, snotty nose. "I need you."

Normally, Ryouta is quick to smile. But this time, Ryouta's mouth opens slowly, like a blooming sunflower, bright and beautiful. He scootches closer, kissing Yukio's jaw, his mouth, his nose, his neck. "I like you," Ryouta says, determinedly.

"I like you, too," Yukio says. 

"You're not a bad captain," Ryouta says. "You're a great captain. I wouldn't have made it this far without you, Yukio."

Yukio smiles back at him. "Thanks."

Ryouta leans in to kiss him again, but Yukio puts a hand over Ryouta's mouth.

"What?" Ryouta says, against Yukio's hand.

"Before you do anything else," Yukio says, "please, as your captain … Go clean your face."

Ryouta pouts. "Fine," he says, "but just so you know, most people would kill to have some of my snot on their face!"

"Hm," Yukio says, unimpressed.

Ryouta steals one last kiss before he scurries away to the bathroom.

When he comes back, his face mostly clear of facial fluids, he hops into the empty space next to Yukio and rolls his arm out. "This time," Ryouta says, "please sleep in my arm!" He gestures wildly to his very sweaty, very wet armpit, and Yukio can't help but laugh.

"All right," Yukio says, and curls up next to him, his cheek pressed against Ryouta's side.

Yukio can't say everything feels better. It still hurts; he still feels unworthy of ever being called captain. But lying there, falling asleep to the sound of Ryouta's heartbeat, Yukio knows he doesn't have to be alone when he cries.


End file.
